


The Waves and Both of Us

by TheMarvelousMadMadamMim



Series: Softly and Tenderly, We Begin (Hackle Summer Trope Challenge) [3]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Beach Day, F/F, Hackle Summer Trope Challenge, The slow burn continues, dimity drill stirring ish up as usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 17:08:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15441816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim/pseuds/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim
Summary: An impromptu class trip takes a beachy detour.Story 3/8 in the Hackle Summer Trope Challenge





	The Waves and Both of Us

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the Charlotte Sometimes song.
> 
> Also: All 8 entries for the Hackle Summer Trope Challenge will be a continuing storyline. So while you don't have to read the previous two works (Survival Skills and Chaos Thy Name is Circe), there will be references to events which happened in those stories, which might make it easier to understand. But you do you, boo. Go where the spirit leads you.
> 
> Also also: super mild spoilers for season two, as this is set after, in Mildred's third year.

It was Mr. Rowan-Webb who first noticed the problem, due to the sudden influx of flies in the castle. Miss Gimlett, botany mistress, was the second—her Nightshade seedlings went to rot overnight. Miss Drill noticed the weird stains around the ceiling of the great hall at breakfast, but thought maybe they’d been there forever and she just hadn’t noticed before. Miss Hardbroom saw the black leeching through the stones of her private chambers, but thought nothing of it, because the castle was over a thousand years old and she’d certainly stayed in less accommodating standards.

By the time it was brought to Ada Cackle’s attention, the morriwort mold had reached infestation levels. A specialist was called in, and she informed them that the castle would have to be cleared for 48 hours to work a total eradication spell—during which no other living beings could be present.

“Simply can’t be done,” Hecate Hardbroom decreed. “The fifth years have a test this week, and the first years simply can’t lose that time—they’re woefully behind in basic potions as it is, without a two day delay.”

“Miss Hardbroom, this isn’t exactly a choice,” Ada suppressed a sigh of frustration. She’d already had a long enough day, following the inspector around and enduring endless lectures and suppositions as to how the mold had gotten there in the first place. Now she was seated in the staff lounge, surrounded by a bunch of huffy witches (and one huffy wizard) who baulked at the idea of having their schedules upended for two whole days. You'd have thought she had just asked them each to give up a leg and their firstborn daughter, the way they all carried on.

The one exception, per usual, was Dimity Drill, who beamed brightly. “I think it’s jolly wonderful!”

Everyone stopped and slowly turned to look at the flying instructor. HB practically snarled.

Dimity held up her hands, as if warding off potential objections, “I mean, the girls are going to love it. A whole two days away from the academy? It'll be an absoulte treat! We have enough adults to properly chaperone, and we could divy the years up, send them each on a different adventure. Overnight field trip, for the whole school.”

Ada nodded, already expanding the idea in her mind. After some rather intense discussion, in which several forms of deals and trades were made, the teaching staff were evenly divided among the five sections. Hecate, as third year form mistress, was naturally assigned to the third years, and Ada placed herself with them, knowing most of the staff would prefer not to spend a two day getaway with Miss Hardbroom (and if a selfish desire to simply spend time with Hecate was present, well, it certainly wasn’t going to hurt anyone). Again, the exception was Dimity Drill, who over-enthusiastically volunteered to join year three.

Hecate wore a look of muted terror at Drill's enthusiasm, although Ada wasn’t sure why. The two staffers had been less antagonist towards each other recently, she'd thought.

Once everyone was assigned a group, the next decision was where each group should go for their individual field trips.

Mr. Rowan-Webb and Miss Bat decided to take the year ones to a magic weaving colony run by old friends. The girls would learn the history of enchanted weaving, do a few small crafts, and enjoy the safety and quiet of the commune. Year twos were going to another academy, who graciously opened their doors for an informal year two spelling bee. Year fours were off to a nature camp and year fives on a tour of Weirdsister College.

Which left year three. Whose chaperones were currently at-odds. Hecate believed a tour of the Museum of Tribulation was in order, which Dimity immediately rejected.

“Goddess, HB, do you want to spend the rest of the night soothing away all the nightmares those girls will have, afrer seeing something like that?”

“It is important to remember our history,” HB intoned quietly, with a reverence she only used when talking about the craft and its history. “Yes, our ancestors endured horrible, horrible things. But we cannot forget their sacrifice, simply because it isn’t pretty.”

“While I do agree with the sentiment, Miss Hardbroom, I also share Miss Drill’s reluctance to lose my own good night’s sleep to preserve the girls'.” Ada admitted.

“Just put them in an enchanted stupor,” Hecate blinked, as if the answer was so obvious that she shouldn’t even have to mention it. “Or use a silencing spell.”

She was perfectly straight-faced, but Ada was certain the last suggestion was a joke. Relatively certain, anyways.

A compromise was reached: a walking tour of Mother Shipton’s cave and its surrounding hills, which fulfilled Dimity’s desire for something active and less nightmare-inducing, and met Hecate’s requirement for educational content and historical background.

However, when the news was announced at morning assembly, Ada felt that the girls did not respond with the same level of contentment. There were shifting glances, a few wrinkled noses, and one very perplexed Mildred Hubble.

“Shipton’s Cave,” Ethel Hallow rolled her eyes, keeping her voice at just the right pitch so that it carried across her row of classmates without being discernable by the teachers. “Who hasn’t been?”

“I think I was five, the last time my parents dragged me there,” Enid admitted, squinting slightly.

Only Maud seemed excited at the idea. Mildred hesitated, wanting to ask questions but knowing she’d catch hell for it. She decided to wait, to ask Maud when they were alone. Maud never judged her, never chided her lack of knowledge, her absence of magical background. Knowing she was truly a witch had helped Millie’s confidence in many respects, but it hadn’t changed the fact that she’d grown up outside this world.

Enid shifted in her seat, eyes gleaming as she turned to Ethel and Felicity, “D’you think we could convince them to take a detour?”

* * *

 

From her seat beside Hecate, Dimity Drill made a small sound of cautious concern, her eyes focused on the small gaggle of third years, whose heads were all leaning in, obviously hatching some kind of plan. In a low tone, she announced, “I think the girls are revolting.”

“A little harsh, but can’t say I always disagree with the sentiment,” HB drawled dryly, stone-faced as ever. Dimity would have laughed, if she wasn’t busy dying of shock.

“Hecate Hardbroom, did you just make a _joke_?” She clutched her chest, exaggerating her surprise.

The potions mistress merely arched an expressive brow. She was pleased with herself, Dimity realized. One again, feline in her attitude, the cat who got the cream.

Ada watched the exchange with a secret smile, their words drowned out as Miss Bat led the girls in a rousing rendition of the alma mater. It had only been just over a week since Hecate’s faked engagement—a week since she’d turned down the subsequent real offer of marriage from Maximillian Spellborne, quietly confessing that she had everything she could ever want right here.

She’d smiled like the moon, bright yet reserved, secret yet unhidden. Had taken Ada’s hand in hers, had let her thumb brush against Ada’s skin in a soothing way, over and over again. A simple thing, but by no means a small one. Ada had understood what it had taken to get them to that point, and she was grateful for every step, no matter how glacial it seemed.

Hecate hadn’t touched her since. But hadn’t avoided her, either. In fact, nothing had changed between them. There were still walks in the garden, a few late-night teas, an evening full of ordering supplies for the next term. Perhaps, occasionally, Hecate smiled a little softer. Let her eyes linger a little longer. And perhaps Ada stopped hiding her own smiles, whenever Hecate did something particularly endearing. There was more, barely, but still more.

During the past week, Ada had noticed that Hecate was more relaxed. Whether it was simply from the lack of stress her fake engagement had induced, or from the added softness in her interactions with Ada, the headmistress couldn’t say. She knew which reason she hoped for.

The alma mater finished, and now it was time for Ada to dismiss them all, to begin the business of sorting out brooms and traveling cloaks and where’s-your-buddy-everyone-find-a-flying-buddy. Truth be told, she found herself as giddy as the girls.

Something about being away from school, with Hecate, made her bubbly with joy. It would be an adventure, perhaps even a chance to further their steps into this new territory. She watched her deputy transfer to the group of third years, the rigid set of her impressively-padded shoulders implying that Miss Hardbroom was firmly in-character for the day ahead.

* * *

 

No matter how many years it had been, Hecate Hardbroom still felt a measure of satisfaction every time a student jumped at her sudden appearance. However, she easily hid her smile, eyebrows flinching downward as she drawled, “Mildred Hubble.”

The L grated from the back of her throat, rolling off her tongue, like an oyster working a piece of grit into a pearl. The other girls, realizing they were not the object of HB’s ire and still possessing the good sense not to become so, slipped away. Enid and Maud hung back, trying to show solidarity while avoiding crossfire.

The young witch was immediately alert, hands zipping to her braids, which she tugged self-consciously. “Y-yes Miss Hardbroom?”

Hecate took another step forward, her voice low as she decreed, “You did not properly clean your workstation before leaving my classroom yesterday.”

Mildred’s eyes flew open in horror. “But Miss Hardbroom, I didn’t—I would _never_ —”

“Are you implying that I am telling a _lie_?” Hecate arched her brow, leaning forward and pushing more force into her tone. Actually, it was endearing, how viscerally Mildred reacted to being accused of messing up Hecate’s lab. How profane she thought the accusation was.

Mildred was at a loss—she wanted to vehemently protest her innocence, and yet she knew that doing so would only upset HB more.

“As punishment,” Hecate produced a slim book from thin air. “I have assigned extra work. I will quiz you, once we land at Knaresborough.”

Mildred look down at the worn book, which HB had placed in her hands. _Ursula Southeil: The Woman Who Became Mother Shipton._

“Perhaps her story will teach you to be more grateful of your current surroundings, and therefore take proper care of them,” Miss Hardbroom drawled, her tone implying her lack of faith in such a thing.

“Yes, Miss Hardbroom,” Millie ducked her head to hide her smile. HB had noticed how lost she was, when everyone began discussing the trip—because of course, she was the only one who didn’t grow up in a witching household, who didn’t know her history, and who was constantly reminded of this fact, every day at the academy.

With a satisfied nod, Hecate transferred back to the podium, where Ada waited with a warm smile.

“Should I pretend not to have seen that?” Ada teased, leaning forward conspiratorially.

“Seen what?”

* * *

 

Knaresborough was not the easiest flight. Aside from the distance, there was a steady wind that buffeted against them, requiring more focus and grip strength than usual. Ever one for safety, Hecate had readily agreed to Drill’s suggestion for multiple stops along the way to keep the girls from getting too exhausted. Despite Ada’s hope that a trip would somehow equal more time with Hecate, they barely spoke along the way. Yet Ada remained perfectly content—because whenever she did glance over at Hecate, she found the potions mistress always watching her, always smiling.

It was late afternoon by the time they landed in a field a few miles away from Shipton’s Cave. To nonmagical eyes, that’s all it was—an empty field, overgrown weeds blowing in the wind. But once Miss Hardbroom lifted her hands over her head, the veil dropped to reveal a rambling collection of buildings with a weather-beaten sign boasting _Southeil Inn_.

Within a matter of minutes, everyone was inside and room assignments were sorted (Dimity Drill had been an absolute angel, quashing her initial desire to “accidentally” book a single room for HB and Ada). The girls were given freedom to roam the grounds, along with a stern warning from Miss Hardbroom on the consequences of _behavior unbecoming of a young witch from Cackle’s Academy_. They reconvened at dinner, and bedtime was earlier than usual, due to the grueling day and the morning plans, which would be the hike and tour of Shipton’s Cave.

Ada was downstairs, tucked away in the inn’s library with a quiet cup of tea. She’d become fast friends with the owner, a kindly and bustling woman who’d actually been thrilled at having a gaggle of girls running through her halls. _Livens the place up, brings a spot of color, don’t you think?_ Hecate had arched a brow, as if feeling that perhaps it got _too_ colorful sometimes, but Ada knew that secretly, she agreed.

As if summoned by the thought, Hecate appeared. In a voice lined with fatigue, she announced, “The girls are all in their beds for the night.”

She reached out at she spoke, lightly placing a hand on Ada’s shoulder. Gently, thoughtlessly, as if she’d done it a thousand times. Had it been anyone else, Ada probably wouldn’t have noticed at all—it was a small gesture, an inconsequential action. But nothing was inconsequential when it came to Hecate.

The times that Hecate had reached for Ada had always been after something terrible—when Hecate needed some kind of reassurance that Ada was still there, truly there. Today hadn’t been terrible in the least, but Ada was keenly aware of the fact that they’d barely spoken all day. _And she missed that. She missed me._

The thought sent a warm ripple across Ada's skin. The innkeeper appeared in front of them, congenial smile on her face. “Cuppa tea for ya, love?”

Hecate blanched slightly at the term of endearment, but easily recovered and agreed to tea. Ada saw the innkeep’s eyes flicker to Ada’s shoulder, where Hecate’s hand still rested, then flit between the two women. Something passed behind her eyes, and Ada was struck with a revelation: _she thinks we’re a couple._

Part of her bristled at the odd look of unease that momentarily slid over the innkeep’s face (which she quickly hid under a smile again), but a larger part of her was simply delighted that someone had made such an assumption. That had to mean something was there, right? Something visible, something other people could see and say _ah, yes, that is love_?

Oh, how she hoped that was so. How she hoped Hecate saw it, too. She was fairly certain that her deputy had, due to the past week and all the moments of softness it held. But sometimes she found herself thinking that it was all too wonderful to be true, just another trick of her love-starved mind.

Hecate slipped away, maneuvering a chair so that it was directly opposite Ada’s and sinking into it with a satisfied weariness. Soft smiles were exchanged and they waited in calm silence until Hecate’s tea arrived. As usual, Hecate was oblivious to the innkeeper’s change in demeanor, and probably was grateful that the woman didn’t stay to chatter on, like she generally would. Ada found that she didn’t mind, either. She had a cup of tea, a warm fire, and Hecate. She didn’t particularly want to share any of that with anyone else.

“Hullo, fair witches,” Dimity Drill dragged a wooden chair over to the fire, turning it around and straddling it, resting one arm across the back. A pint was firmly lodged in her grip, and she wore the easy smile of the soon-to-be-drunk. She raised her glass, “Here’s to hoping the journey home isn’t nearly as rough.”

“Here, here,” Hecate delicately raised her tea cup in agreement.

“Mildred Hubble’s light is still on,” Dimity announced, though she seemed disinterested.

“Leave her be,” Hecate returned quietly. This earned her surprised looks from her colleagues, but she didn’t respond. She knew that Mildred was pouring over the book that she’d given her earlier, trying to catch up to all the things that her fellow students already knew. She wouldn’t deny the girl a chance to fit in.

“So,” Dimity easily switched gears. “Have you already set the alarm spells?”

This was directed at HB, who definitely would place all sorts of protective spells around the girls and their rooms, worrywart that she was. The potions mistress merely nodded in confirmation. Ada Cackle was smiling like a lovestruck fool, which technically, was exactly what she was. Dimity wasn’t sure exactly what had happened last week, but she had enough to piece together something close to the truth. None of that mattered, because honestly, the past wasn’t nearly as exciting as the future—it seemed that Ada and HB were _finally_ moving forward. Given the soppy little looks between them all week, it seemed that maybe there had been a moment of recognition between the two witches. Dimity, Algie, and Gwen had established a running bet as to the timeframe it would take for the women to actually enter a relationship, and Dimity was nothing if not competitive. She _was_ going to win that bet, and if she helped two people find love while doing so, then that was an added bonus.

Her plan was thwarted by HB’s sudden bolt forward, eyebrows lifted and nose pointed towards the staircase, like a setter on point. Obviously one of the girls had triggered an alarm spell. HB transferred away. A second later, her teacup returned, appearing on the small table next to her chair with a slight clink.

Ada was still smiling, but Dimity could see the light that tamped down in her eyes at the loss of her deputy. And the younger witch couldn’t help but comment, “That bad, huh?”

The blonde peered at her over the top of her glasses, expression skewed in confusion.

Dimity grinned ( _oblivious woman_ ). “She just left, and you miss her already.”

“I don’t…I have no idea what you’re talking about, Dimity.”

She hummed in amusement. “Right, Miss Cackle. And you have no idea what’s up with all those little looks passing between you two. Right, gotcha.”

The flying instructor gave a conspiratorial wink, and Ada felt her heart stop. Dimity focused on her pint, taking a nonchalant swig. “Perhaps you two should do something about all that mutual pining ya got going on.”

Now Ada made a strangled noise of shocked protest. But one knowing look from Dimity stilled the words on her tongue, the attempt to deny the truth. Instead, she went into headmistress mode, her face as serious as her low tone, “I will not have any idle gossip going around about Miss Hardbroom. She is a professional, and should be treated in kind. Her personal life is her own.”

“As is yours,” Dimity was completely unfazed by the unspoken reprimand. She downed the rest of her drink, then rose to her feet, stretching out her tired muscles. “And if there is any gossip about HB—or yourself—let’s just say it’s all good things and usually ends with the phrase _about damn time_. Well met until the morning, Ada.”

She didn’t even wait for a reply, transferring away. Ada sat back, shell-shocked by the sudden turn of events.

Did everyone know, did they whisper about her and Hecate whenever they left the room? Were there rumors about them? She knew how it went, with teaching staff. You lived in a bubble with a handful of people for ten months out of the year; it could get a little too comfortable at times. People were always looking for entertainment, and gossiping about colleagues was always an easy way to pass the time.

What’s the worst thing they could say? Ada’s inner voice challenged. That she was in love with Hecate? Well, that wasn’t a lie. That perhaps Hecate loved her back? That was certainly Ada’s deepest hope. And she’d seen evidence of such a fact, seeing more and more every day. Hecate wasn’t one for grand declarations (or declarations of any size, to be honest), but her actions spoke for themselves. If only Ada could truly understand _what_ they were saying.

She had a clue. A hope. A dream. But part of her hesitated, still feeling as if it couldn't possibly be true. Sometimes, she convinced herself that Hecate’s soft smiles over the past week were just born of gratefulness for her friendship, for all the ways she’d helped her during the fake engagement and its subsequent fallout. Sometimes, she allowed herself to believe that it was something more.

She needed to sleep now. It had been a long day, and tomorrow would be just as long. She thought of walking through the caves with Hecate at her side, reaching out in the warm darkness and gently taking her hand. Hecate’s thumb brushing reassuring circles into the back of her hand, each movement a small spark of electricity. Ada shook her head and rose to her feet. She took the stairs, relishing this last chance to work out her exhausted muscles before sleep. As she rounded the corner of the hallway, a movement at the other end caught her eye.

Hecate, leaving a student’s room. She spotted Ada, stopping short. Something in her gaze, naked and raw, made Ada’s heart clench. However, Hecate quickly recovered, the expression shuffled beneath a stoic mask as she clipped down the wood-slatted hallway in her boots.

“Crisis averted,” she intoned in mock seriousness. Then, her dark eyes melted into something more sorrowful, “You’re turning in for the night?”

Ada heard the regret in her voice, the desire to sit with her a little longer, to be with her a little longer. And as much as she wanted to give Hecate anything she wanted, she felt the fatigue settling in like a familiar friend. “I’m afraid so, my dear. Sweet dreams, Hecate.”

She couldn’t stop herself from reaching out, gently tracing a line up Hecate’s arm. She didn’t miss the way Hecate’s breath stopped, the thin press of her lips, the light flutter of her eyelashes. Well, a perfect image to take into her dreams, Ada decided.

“Pleasant rest, Ada,” Hecate whispered after her, and the affection soaking every syllable was unmistakable. Ada ducked her head, smiling at the sound of her own name being caressed so easily by a voice she loved so dearly.

Hecate quickly brushed past, to the door next to Ada’s. With one last shy smile, she slipped inside. Ada went inside her own room, chest brimming with delight. Now she felt wide awake—Hecate was here, just a few feet away, just a flimsy little wall between them. Ada had to laugh at herself. She was becoming ridiculous…but found that she didn’t care, not really. She replayed her conversation with Dimity in her mind. _About damn time_. Those were Dimity’s words—and with them came the implication that other people had been aware of something going on for quite some time.

Which came as a bit of a surprise, as only a week ago, Ada had realized that Hecate might actually reciprocate her feelings. Had it just always been there, blindingly obvious to everyone else? How? What had they seen, what had they noticed that she hadn’t? She wanted to ask Dimity for more information, for more clues, more affirmation that she wasn’t imagining it all, more fuel for her painstaking attempt to win her best friend’s heart.

Perhaps she and Dimity should have a chat, whenever they got back to Cackle’s. Knowing Dimity, she’d be teased a bit about it, but again, Ada didn’t care. Not when so much could be gained.

She dreamt of Hecate that night, unsurprisingly. A simple and soft dream, more of sensation than sight—the feeling of a warm body next to hers, a hand in her own, fingers entwined in long, dark locks, a breath across her skin, her name on soft lips.

* * *

 

The group was less than a single hour into the tour of Mother Shipton’s cave when Dimity detected the first hints of rebellion. Felicity was twittering from one small section of girls to another, whispering quickly as they all ducked their heads together.

Dimity glanced over at Ada and HB. Ada had noticed as well, and while she wore a slightly amused smile, her eyes still retained a sense of critical caution. HB was too busy craning her neck, taking in the cave and obviously lost in some deep thought.

However, it wasn’t until lunchtime that the girls’ plan was revealed. Felicity Foxglove led the delegation, walking up to the three teachers with a shaky bravado. In her hands was a piece of paper, which Ada noted with a mixture of amusement and concern.

“Since we can’t go back to the school for another 24 hours,” Felicity began, glancing back at her fellow students for moral support. “We thought…perhaps we could take a detour.”

“To where?” Ada asked kindly. Beside her, she felt Hecate stiffen in response.

Felicity handed over the piece of paper. “We’d like to petition for a daytrip to the beach.”

Hecate made a small, strangled sound. Dimity grinned. Ada read over the petition, impressed by the writing and noting that every girl had signed it. “This is rather official, Miss Foxglove.”

“Well, we thought maybe if we had stipulations, it would…help the cause,” Felicity cut a glance at Miss Hardbroom, whom everyone had agreed would be the number one opponent to such a plan. She pointed to the paper, redirecting HB’s attention to it, “We included a good conduct clause, and we’ll even write an essay on our trip to Mother Shipton’s cave, if we can just spend a few hours at the beach tomorrow morning.”

Ada was beaming now. “Clever girls. I have to admit, I’m impressed with the initiative. And at Cackle’s, we reward creativity and initiative, don’t we?”

That last question was directed at Hecate, who ducked her head in acquiescence. The deputy headmistress merely arched her brow, fixing Felicity and her friends with a flat look, “I expect all essays turned in to me by dinnertime. If one paper is late, there will be no beach in anyone’s future.”

The girls made a few sounds of delight, and Felicity nodded emphatically, “Absolutely, Miss Hardbroom. We’ll start right away. Oh, oh thank you!”

She darted off, the small group of girls going to spread the good news. Ada’s smile widened as she watched the surprised reactions of her students.

“We will regret this,” Hecate intoned quietly, full of faith in her own prophecy.

“They’ve earned it,” Ada returned gently. “I should think we’ve earned it, too.”

Dimity hummed in agreement, watching the girls as they finished their lunches and scattered around the grounds near the cave, finding quiet places to write their essays. Hecate produced a parasol, which she tilted over Ada. Dimity smiled at the small action but wisely didn’t point it out. Instead, she took to wandering around, keeping an eye on the girls as Hecate and Ada found a seat on a nearby bench.

“Thank you,” Ada said quietly, tilting her chin upwards to indicate the parasol.

Hecate merely smiled in response, her dark eyes staying on Ada’s face, gently running over every line and curve. Ada was still getting used to this, the new sense of scrutiny that Hecate applied to her—she liked it, despite the occasional discomfort. Sometimes it made her feel self-conscious, uncertain as to what Hecate could see, what she might find, but Hecate never lost the soft smile that always danced at the corner of her eyes when she mapped Ada’s face with her gaze. She never made Ada feel anything less than some kind of wonder. Whatever she did see, she liked—and that created a particularly warm reaction within Ada. For perhaps the first time, she realized that if things continued, she wouldn’t just be the object of Hecate’s affection—she would be the object of her desire, too, and Ada wasn’t sure she could even sensibly bear the thought, not yet. It was too overwhelming, to think of her meticulous potions mistress turning her acute focus onto Ada's body, with the same determined dedication she gave to preparing a lecture or mixing a potion.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and looked away, cheeks heating at the images that burst unbidden into her mind.

 _Ada was blushing_ , Hecate realized. She was blushing because Hecate had _made_ her blush. Hecate was responsible for that sweet smile and those rosy cheeks—a heady revelation that made her immediately want to do it again, whatever action had accomplished such a feat. But all she had done was look at Ada…although she could admit that over the past week, she’d tried her hardest not to hide her glances, not to shutter emotion behind her usual veil of stoicism. So far, Ada had responded positively to Hecate’s advances, if they could be classified as such. Despite how simple a single unguarded glance might seem, it still took more courage than Hecate felt she possessed, sometimes. To look at the one you loved, to look without hiding that love, oh, what a leap of faith! For what if that person didn’t feel the same, didn’t want to see the love shining in your eyes, didn’t want the heart you so fumblingly offered?

For now, she did not know the answer to such questions. Because whenever she did look at Ada like that, Ada always smiled back, always seemed to welcome her glances, always returned them with warm looks of her own. That part was almost as terrifying as simply allowing herself to look with love—knowing it was returned, knowing that this was something, going somewhere. After all the years of pining and daydreaming, all the times she taught herself to hide her smiles and her adoration, all the ways she’d slowly stitched herself to Ada’s side, she was finally realizing that she hadn’t been the only one feeling this way, wanting these things. She was also realizing that in the majority of her dreaming, she hadn’t imagined much past this point—and now that she was here, there was so much more beyond.

She couldn’t think about that right now. She needed to focus on the present— _wanted_ to focus on the present, on each moment, each smile, each small step that took them somewhere new. It was all a dream come true, and she’d relish it, knowing that these things were finite and should be savored.

She glanced over at Ada again, whose mouth was still curled into a soft smile as she watched the girls (and oh, how she wanted to place a tiny kiss, right at the corner of that mouth, right where it curled into her favorite smile). She thought of two weeks ago, when she’d met Maximillian in the village near the school, to solidify their fake engagement backstory. She’d returned to the academy, after a picnic with Max, and Ada had smiled wistfully, declaring the day perfect for a picnic. Hecate had silently promised herself to give Ada a picnic, to make up for all the stress Hecate’s personal life had put her through.

Now Hecate was grateful for that stress—it had pushed them closer together, pushed them here.

Still, she owed Ada a picnic.

* * *

 

The record time in which the girls completed their essays earned a snarky comment about proper incentives from Miss Hardbroom, but she still allowed a good-natured smile to slip through. She sat by the fire after lights out, reading over every single one. Ada wisely did not point out the way Hecate smiled when she read Mildred Hubble’s essay. Instead, she merely watched her deputy with a warm grin of her own.

Once the papers were deemed viable, the headmistress and her deputy walked up the stairs, the small stairwell forcing them closer together, an arm or a hip occasionally coming into contact with another. Hecate wasn’t a fan of physical exertion, but she didn’t think it was the stairs that caused her inability to breath properly. Ada was blushing slightly, too, and that only made Hecate’s condition worse ( _she’s thinking the same thing, right now, we’re both…oh sweet Goddess, it’s just a walk up some rickety old stairs!_ ).

Still, she smiled at their ridiculousness. She hoped it never changed. They were ridiculous, together. It was the last part that made it wonderful.

* * *

 

The beach was a two hour flight, but with better winds. They landed on an abandoned expanse of sand, and the girls quickly tumbled out of their shoes and socks, screeching with delight as they raced to the inevitably freezing water. Dimity sent the brooms to vanishment, shaking her head in amusement as the sounds of joy evolved into shrieks of shock as the girls reached the cold water.

Ada magicked her shoes away, wiggling her toes into the sand with a happy sigh. Hecate frowned as she squinted up at the darkening sky.

“I think it’s going to rain,” she decreed, the uneasiness evident in her tone.

“Forecast calls for it,” Dimity agreed. She waved her hands, magically picking up all the girls’ shoes and depositing them a safe distance from the tide.

As if on cue, a heavy gust of wind swept across the beach, nearly sending Hecate toppling. Her heels were not an advantage in the sand, she realized, and with a sigh, she magicked them away. Ada smiled at her, at how much closer they were in height now.

“If it starts to storm…” Hecate didn’t finish her sentence, her worried gaze trailing to the girls, who were completely oblivious.

“We’ll handle it,” Ada assured her, placing a gentle hand on her arm. “Until then, let’s just let the girls enjoy a little holiday.”

Hecate pressed her lips into a thin line, but she still nodded in agreement. She seemed dismayed about something, but Ada couldn’t figure out why.

Dimity left them, going to dip her toes into the ocean as well, splashing a few girls in the process (totally accidental, of course). When she glanced up again, HB and Ada were walking along the beach, swaying closely together. But not closely enough, she decided. With a wiggle of her fingers, she pulled an incoming wave further up the shore, just a few feet, so that it engulfed Ada’s ankles. The headmistress twittered, and HB, overprotective overdramatic lovestruck idiot that she was, immediately slipped an arm around Ada’s waist, as if keeping her from being dragged out to sea. Dimity ducked her head and looked away, knowing her work here was done.

Goddess, Ada was _soft_. Hecate’s brain short-circuited as she realized exactly what she’d done. It had been an instant reaction, without thought, but now she was here, left arm around Ada’s waist, right hand clutching Ada’s right hand, the front of her body pressed against the right side of Ada’s, as if trying to pull her back to safety. Except there was no danger. Just…softness. Softness beneath her hand, against her hip. Hecate knew she should let go, apologize, but she found herself helpless to do either. To do anything.

Ada was giggling, first at the cold shock of the water, then at Hecate’s endearingly over-the-top reaction. However, when she glanced up to tease her deputy, the laughter caught in her throat, much like her heart.

Hecate was right there. A breath away. Such a small distance to close, a tiny gap to bridge for a kiss. Dark eyes wide with surprise, slowly muting into something else, something that made Ada want to lean in. She became aware of the closeness of their bodies, of all the points she felt Hecate—along the length of her hip, firmly around her waist, covering her hand with protective warmth and strength. Every piece of her that wasn’t connected to Hecate felt cold and withered in comparison.

“Are—you—you’re alright,” Hecate stuttered, more out of a need to break the tension than anything.

“I’m wonderful,” Ada decreed, giving Hecate’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

Hecate cleared her throat, ducked her head, took a half-step back. Her hand slipped away from Ada’s waist, but with such slow and measured intent that Ada’s heart fluttered. But this time, Hecate didn’t fully disengage. Instead, she looped her left arm through Ada’s right, as if tethering her. Ada merely grinned, happy for this little moment of contact.

Hecate kept her head down, focusing on each step through the heavy sand. “I'm…I’m not sure you’ll remember, but two weeks ago, when I—I came back from meeting Max in the village, I told you about our picnic.”

“Of course I remember,” Ada’s tone was tinged with gentle chiding. She remembered the single white flower in Hecate's hair. How that flower had found its way onto her desk, where it still rested, kept perfect by a preservation spell.

“Of course, of course,” Hecate nodded, flustered by her own stupidity. Ada took pity and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze, prompting her to continue. “You mentioned…you said it was a perfect day for a picnic, and I…I thought to myself that you deserved that, too. A lovely picnic on a perfect day.”

Ada felt her pulse rising, intuition seeping into her veins, but she remained silent, letting Hecate continue. With a slow wave of her hand, Hecate produced a small blanket, set up with a basket of goodies. She didn’t meet Ada’s gaze (this was already so trying, she couldn’t add trying to look at this woman, to possibly see the look of disappointment), instead pushing forward quickly, “It’s not…the weather is awful and the trip’s been exhausting and sand is bound to get everywhere—”

“But it’s still absolutely perfect,” Ada breathed, her cheeks already stinging from grinning so widely. Now Hecate looked at her, face filled with surprise.

“It..it is?” Her brows lifted, the incredulity and soft hope evident in every line of her face.

“It is,” Ada clutched Hecate’s arm tighter, leaned forward just enough to imitate a hug. She fought the urge to pull the woman into a kiss. But she knew Hecate was a woman of slow and methodical pacing. Even this picnic was a huge leap forward, as innocent and simple as it seemed. She wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize this. She’d come to a decision, over the past week: she wouldn’t ever take the first step, she would let Hecate set the pace, and she would simply encourage her and her efforts, no matter what. She’d waited years for Hecate, would have waited even more, if it had led to this. This gentle quiet budding, these sweet gestures and secret little moments.

The wind picked up again, fluttering the edges of the blanket beneath them. True to Hecate’s prediction, sand did end up in some of the food. And when Hecate saw a few girls glancing wistfully in their direction, she rolled her eyes, easily producing more blankets and giving a curt jerk of her hand, commanding the girls to join them. Soon Dimity and the students were happily installed among the patchwork of blankets, popping grapes and munching on sandwiches.

Hecate glanced over at Ada, her own smile blossoming at the sight of her headmistress’ pleased expression. When Ada glanced over, Hecate lifted her eyebrows, silently asking: _Still perfect?_

Ada tilted her head back slightly, smile softening. _Absolutely. Absolutely perfect._

And now it was Hecate’s grin which outshone the sun.


End file.
